


A Night on The Networks

by AraSigyrn, deannawol



Series: Friday Night Firefight - Bad Nights and Big Cities [1]
Category: American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:51:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/deannawol/pseuds/deannawol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris' idea of a night in isn't what other people might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night on The Networks

They've been in the fortress for 18.36521 nanoseconds when something flashes to red. Kris has the process isolated before it can trip the monitoring programs but the thin red strand of code is painfully obvious in the blue/green flow of the server's OS.  
  
"V, tell me he's nearly done," Kris breathes. There's a blip sound and the bare-bones IM link that he and SYS wrote comes to life in his peripheral vision. SYS always sounds like one of those old TV show androids and Kris honestly can't see why he wastes space in his ikon for the modulation software.  
  
"This is bullshit, man," SYS' voice crackles and Kris glances sideways. SYS' text is fluroscent green, flashing a little as agitation bleeds through the code. "There's no sign of the data."  
  
"SYS," Kris says as calmly as he can while another process flares red. "We ran this sim a thousand times, okay? You can do this."  
  
"User log-in," V's feed opens another window and the lines of code scroll down, the relevant lines highlighting as he watches.  
  
`LOGIN> USER ID: RAMSE-5  
SUBMIT> PASSWORD: ########  
PASSWORD CONFIRMED  
STARTING USER SYNCHRONISATION...done  
BOOTING V-WORLD IKON R-4M35...`  
  
"Alright," Kris breathes out. It's a meat-world habit but some habits defy rationalising. "SYS, you get the data, I'll let the guys know we need a diversion. V, get me the codes for the firewall monitors."  
  
"Confirmed," SYS and V's IM windows flash once and go dark. Kris can still pick up SYS' agitation and the code flowing from the other User is coming fast and furious while V brings up the access algorithm for the monitor programs on the firewall. Kris starts typing, the keyboard filling itself in as his fingers fly across the non-existent keys.  
  
Pharaoh, fuck. Kris has run against Ramsey or 'Ramses the Great' before, back when he was just Pharaoh, before he signed his soul and genius over to Nu-Technic. He lost but that was three years and a billion clock cycles back. Kris rolls the algorithm, cracking the passwords on each of the monitors. They're big - swollen caricatures of pro-wrestlers, Kris thinks. He hasn't watched wrestling in years but Root does and he ran the recon for this one and his tiny-font notes pop up as Kris looks at each of the monitor.  
  
The one on the wall nearest them is 'Captain Killer' apparently and Kris grins. He can't tamper too much; Ramsey isn't the Pharaoh he used to be but Kris can't risk tipping him off until SYS has the data they need. Kris' fingers dance across the keys and he smiles, just a little. He can do subtle.  
  
`COMMAND:://>ACCESS I/O DATA SET  
  
CREATE String NEW_SET = {., ., ., -, -,-, ., ., .,};  
  
SET variable OCULAR_STATUS = NEW_SET;`  
  
Morse Code went out with the dinosaurs but the rest of the team are Kris' kinda people; the geeks and freaks who code traffic lights to insult the cops. Kris knows they'll be watching for any change, even the flicker of light in the monitor programs' eyes.  
  
He's vindicated within a nanosecond that feels like a minute in relative time. Outside the firewall, deep in the neon river of the Net, new currents start to form and Rameses turns to look. The monitors start to replicate in what looks like an exponential pattern. Kris shakes his head as he shuts down the access line to the monitors and starts scrubbing their tracks. It's sloppy use of run time and the monitors are already memory hogs.  
  
"Got it," SYS' code cuts out and Kris slots in the redirects without looking up. "Fuck, man!"  
  
"Intrusion Counter-programs initated," V says calmly. "Anti-personnel programs are being brought to standby mode."  
  
"What do we do?" SYS demands, his/her ikon emerging from the data-stream beside Kris. SYS has a fascination for old-style rock bands and his/her current ikon is a recoloured Jon Bon Jovi mesh. Kris has some old mp9s of the band but he doesn't remember the lead singer having pink hair.  
  
"You got the data?"  
  
"Yes, I got the fucking data," SYS is starting to pixelate around the edges. "Which means we've got a fucking target on us."  
  
"Not unless you let that anti-virus process tag you," Kris says flippantly because SYS is solid. He knows SYS is solid but the mid-run freakout is still stress Kris doesn't need right now. "Pharaoh has to catch us before he can ID us."  
  
"He's got like a million monitor programs, IC everywhere and we're in the middle of his fucking data-fortress!"  
  
"Yeah," Kris murmurs as the ripples in the data-stream start to become waves. "Fucking stupid of him, wasn't it?"  
  
SYS looks at him, expression shifting into a slow smile that is pure SYS as Kris pulls up the private menu that links to the programs stored on his cyberwear.  
  
`COMMAND://> RUN _Draghos_.exe`  
  
Draghos comes online as a sweep of massive wings and a roar that makes the code spark and pixelate. Kris was an anti-social dweeb with a D &D fixation when he wrote the first iteration of Draghos' code and Draghos has always been a dragon. He's a massive program, soaking up most of the server's runtime and the firewall doesn't stand a chance.  
  
It shatters under Draghos' attack, the data-stream splintering for a second before the swirl of programs and connections pour into the fortress, sweeping away the locked monitor programs and Pharaoh. Kris grins at SYS, falling back into the datastream and letting it sweep him away.  
  
Riding on the information superhighway is a high like no other. There isn't an interface setup in the world that can convey how the human mind translates several terrabytes of information per nanosecond. Some net-runners can't handle the raw data. The ones that burnt out and sit at desks in dead end corporate IT support jobs. Kris loves it though; there's a surreal beauty like an LSD trip through a malfunctioning 3D-holo suite.  
  
Kris waits until the ruins of Nu-Technic's data-fortress are lost in the glittering Net and Draghos fades back into standby mode. Kris runs through the standard diagnostics and all his programs come up green.  
  
The job's done, Kris has five bucks on his cred-chip and his favourite coffee shop opens in ten minutes. Yawning, he calls up his private menu again.  
  
`COMMAND://> Log out_SECURE`


End file.
